Wednesday, June 25, 2014

A newcomer finds out about Game of Thrones

My interest is piqued:

"What you reading?"

"Game of Thrones"

"Who's winning?"

"Errr... no-one"

"Why don't they just all have a throne each?"

"They have. They just want more thrones."

"Why's that? Did one of them get a nice throne from
John Lewis, while the other king got one from Ikea, read the instructions wrong
and now he's got a wobbly leg? I'd kill for a decent John Lewis throne if that
happened to me."

11 comments:

Those filthy Swedes offer meatballs(1) in their UK outlets?All we get in The Canadas are:RIKTIG ÖGLA - an adult intimacy aid.And.....FYRKANTIG - something on which to gnaw while engaging a RIKTIG ÖGLA.

(1) Swedish Meatballs? That reminds me of a conversation I had with a geography-challenged Canuck-fuck who, not surprisingly, traced her ancestry back to Engerland.

Her: "Is Greece in Sweden?"

Me: "Yes. In fact, souvlaki is just Swedish meatballs on a stick."

The poor dolt was also unaware that Ireland was an island. I didn't have the heart to tell her that there are actually two Irelands; Northern Ireland and Real Ireland.

Cuddles, may I suggest that the Canoook of supposed Engerlander ancestry may actually have been of Jutish ancestry. It seems that Jutish sperm is in demand in those Sceptic Isles. Apparently the Jutes are good looking and dependable. Now I've been knocking out blond, blue eyed brats for four decades and I only learn now that I could have been paid for my 'spasms'. Unfortunately for the women involved, and unlike the Jutes, I'm not very dependable. Check out the following link and weep. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2667262/Why-British-women-giving-birth-Viking-babies-conceived-Danish-donors.html.

It is through your egotism and earthly desire that you have created the causes for your incessant future becomings, or Samsara. You will be forever plagued by cycles of rebirth and redeath.By virtue of my dutiful and life-long ascetic practices, I have finally attained sanctity and liberation, or Moksha. I will be free of this cycle upon my next death.There is no next life for me. So, best you go for it now.Innit?

Pray tell where is the empirical evidence for your esoteric and mystical philosophy? ‘Show me the data, show me the data’. Belief in an after life is nothing new, of course. Man has always yearned for rewards in another life because the corporeal one is so hard. But belief, in anything, doesn’t necessary make it so. How can consciousness survive the death of the brain? Now there is a conundrum. Socrates himself postulated oblivion when we die. How can a dreamless sleep be bad? However, it is clear that the Platonic Socrates did actually believe in an afterlife where he could dispute for an eternity. His reasoning for the existence an after life is not very convincing, at least to the modern mind. On an unrelated topic. I have been known to produce ‘seed’ at work. This was at the behest of the boss and strictly directed at developing new protocols. Therefore, if I’m not mistaken, this makes me a professional wanker. A word to those who would like to follow my in my sticky footsteps. Do not forgo the use of a wide necked vessel. It saves on the floor cleaning, innit.

The Platonic Socrates?Meh! He was a tosser.Now the Socratic Plato, well, there's a manly man. He knew Greece was not in Sweden and didn't care if Ireland was an island or not. I mean, it's bloody Ireland for christ's sake - the autochthones there were still swinging in the trees, evolutionarily speaking, at that time!

And as far as dreamless sleep goes, it can be really bad. If after a two-day bender consuming buckets of TESCO cider one has neglected to re-balance one's electrolytes prior to the inevitable crash-communing with Morpheus, one's precipitous depletion of potassium ions gonna gets youse some wicked crus and thigh cramps.

You don't wanna be drinking that shit from TESCO. Tis full of congeners and methanol. Will send your liver enzymes soaring like a soaring rocket, or somethink. These days I stick to ALDI own brand 'cider flavoured' floor cleaner. Not great on taste, but it certainly gets you there. Last night I awoke at 4am, totally naked, on a park bench having my toes sucked by a Chinaman. And when I say Chinaman, I'm not using it as a general cipher for 'Asian gentleman'. I've lived in London and know the difference. This fella had the look of Kanton (or is it Wanton) about him. Anyway, at least he had the courtesy to take out his teeth. Perhaps you can teach me Mandarin.

Teach you Mandarin?I'm Burmese!I do, however, know a few important words and phrases, the knowledge of which will serve both of us well in the ensuing decades. You, as a Caucasoid, more so than me.

KOW-TOW (kou-tou, koutou)intr.v.kow·towed, kow·tow·ing, kow·tows

1. To kneel and touch the forehead to the ground in expression of deep respect, worship, or submission, as formerly done in China.2. To show servile deference. See Synonyms at fawn.n.1. The act of kneeling and touching the forehead to the ground.2. An obsequious act.

Most caucasoids couldn't tell the difference between Mongoloid, Chinese, Burmise or Tiptonese, for that matter. Don't confuse your future with mine. I intend to be long gone. I will be conversing with the good Socrates himself, certainly not the Platonic version. I will however, endeavour to avoid General Tojo and that wretch, Hirohito.

I know what you mean, we Mongoloids have trouble distinguishing you white folk variants from one another. Except those Tiptonese oiks. I once mistook a Wal-Mart four-slice toaster for the mayor of Tipton - sheesh, was he embarrassed. Did you know that Tipton gains its name from the Anglo-Saxon name 'Tibba': meaning "arse", followed by 'Tun', the Old English word for aperture? It is written as 'Tibintone' in the Domesday Book for no other reason than the Normans were a bunch of rump-rangers and found the locals to be particularly amenable to colonic irrigation. The Harrowing of the North? Ha! The Rectal Haemorrhaging of the North more like.

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